


Mythologies

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [74]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Marriage, Monogamy, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:19:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost Christmastime in Pittsburgh and everyone has reunited to celebrate together. However, the holiday cheer is soon threatened - not by the ghastly snowstorm that's about to hit, but by a storm that seems to be brewing between Gus and a few family members.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Brian smirks down at Justin. “I happen to know many cures for the common headache.”

“Thanks,”  Justin chuckles weakly, “But this headache doesn’t feel quite so common.”

“Well, we could always get creative…”

That draws a more pronounced laugh from Justin. He smiles at Brian and shakes his head. “It’s okay. You should go back to Em’s. We didn’t come back here for the holidays just to hole up in a hotel.”

Brian reaches over and strokes Justin’s hair out of his face. “If you’re sure…”

“I am.” Justin tugs the blankets up a little higher and hugs them around himself. “Besides, you need to bring Gus back before the storm hits. I’m counting on our movie night tonight.”

Brian glances out the window at the gathering clouds. “I’d better get going, then.”

He leans in to drop a kiss to Justin’s forehead, then stands up to grab his keys and his phone. Meanwhile, Justin turns onto his side and burrows into his plush surroundings.

“Stay safe,” he mumbles, with another weak smile

“Feel better,” Brian replies, returning the smile twice as big.

Then, both at once, they say, “Love you.”

After a beat, Justin laughs and laments, “We’re so disgusting.”

“We are.” Brian kisses him once more. As he turns to leave, he calls over his shoulder, “Utterly repulsive.”

“And proud of it,” Justin calls back, which makes Brian grin.

Then out he goes, from their suite to the elevator, down to the parking lot where the rental is waiting. As he drives up the ramp and out into Pittsburgh’s wintry streets, the smile drops from his face. The weather is already ghastly, and the storm hasn’t even hit yet. Brian sighs as he navigates the snow-steeped streets and reaches for the heater, which he turns up until it’s blasting hot air through the car.

By the time he’s nearing Emmett and Drew’s place, the sky is thick with clouds. Brian can’t believe how bad it is; it looks utterly apocalyptic. The radio is patchy, but he can make out a few things here and there about the storm approaching faster than originally anticipated.

That’s it, his mind is made up - as soon as he’s there, he’ll grab Gus and then get the hell out of dodge. It won’t be easy, of course, given Gus’ love of the holidays. The last time Brian checked, Gus was preoccupied with devouring as many of Emmett’s Christmas cupcakes as humanly possible. Humanly impossible, more like - Brian has no idea how the kid stays so goddamned skinny. What with all the food on supply at Emmett and Drew’s, it’ll probably be a challenge to drag Gus away.

Except…

… is that Gus, stomping down the sidewalk?

“What the fuck?” Brian slams on the brakes and peers out the window. Yep, it’s Gus, alright. He’s walking with his head bowed and his arms wrapped around his middle. Not surprising, considering he’s missing his hat and scarf. The poor kid must be freezing to death.

He doesn’t seem to have noticed Brian, and he’s walking at such a pace that he’s now disappearing around the corner. Brian turns the car around as quick as he can and follows Gus. Despite really not wanting to, he rolls the window down. Instantly, icy air creeps into the car. Brian shudders and decides to make haste.

As loud as he can, he yells, “Gus!”

Gus halts and turns to stare at Brian. “Dad?”

Brian reaches over and shoves the car door open. “Get in here.”

Gus glances at the door, then down the street, as though he’s actually considering the latter as an option. Brian is staggered - he can hardly bear having the car door open, how is Gus standing out there in the thick of it?

Snow is beginning to fall in small, feathery flakes, but it’s getting faster by the second. Gus wipes a few flakes from his face and huffs. He grimaces, rushes towards the car, then leaps in.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brian takes off his own scarf and throws it at Gus. “Are you insane?”

“I had to get out of there,” Gus mutters. He winds the scarf tight around his neck and then pulls it up around his chin. He shivers, tugs his gloves off, and then shoves his hands towards the heater.

“And why’s that?”

“Because I had to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Sure it is.”

Brian is no stranger to his son’s stubborn streak, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating. He has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping back, and even then, what he has to say comes out more harshly than he’d like it to. “It’s not an answer that explains why you chose to try to walk through this weather, all the way from Honeycutt’s to the hotel! Christ, that would have taken you a solid hour!”

Gus scoffs and turns his head away. As he glares out the window, he snaps, “Better than being stuck there!”

“Tell me why,” Brian demands. “Right now.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a kid!” Gus huffs again. “I had to leave because nobody in this stupid fucking family knows how to mind their business.”

“Seriously?” Brian can’t help but laugh. “This coming from you? You’re the nosiest person I know!”

“Fuck you,” Gus snarls. “Stop the car.”

“Gus-”

“Stop the goddamned car!”

Gus’ tone is so desperate that Brian complies immediately, despite his better judgment. As soon as the car screeches to a halt, Gus reaches to open the door. But just as he does, the sky opens and snow starts to plummet down, thick and fast.

“Don’t open the door,” Brian warns. “We need to get back now while there’s still some semblance of visibility.”

Gus sighs and slumps in his seat. “Whatever. Just don’t talk to me.”

“Fine.” Brian bites his tongue yet again and tries to focus on the road, or at least what he can see of it.

And on they go, amidst painfully tense silence.


	2. Chapter 2

When they get back to the hotel, they’re still not speaking. So it’s probably unnecessary for Brian to say -

“Try to keep quiet, Justin’s sleeping.”

\- but he does so anyway, maybe because he’s hoping Gus will drop the silent treatment bullshit and talk to him.

To his amazement, his wishful thinking works. As Gus kicks off his boots, he signals to the faux fireplace in the lounge and asks softly, “Can I turn this on?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

 _Now that’s promising,_ Brian thinks as Gus flicks the switch. The flames leap up and spread a glow through the room. Gus smiles a little and throws himself down in the armchair closest to the fire.

Brian sits down across from him on the sofa. “So, are we going to talk about this?”

Gus kicks his legs up on the coffee table and arches an eyebrow at Brian. Then, with a cool demeanour, he lifts his left hand and casually admires his nails - freshly painted by Daphne yesterday, of course - as he says, “If you call room service, yes.”

“You don’t want a drink from the bar?” Brian nods towards it. The gleaming bottles of liquor are beckoning. “You can have anything you like.”

But apparently they’re only beckoning to him, for Gus shrugs and says, “I want cocoa and cheesecake.”

“Fine.” Brian gets up and grabs the phone. As he places the order, he eyes Gus, who’s still slumped on the sofa looking miserable. His heart aches for the kid - well, actually, his adult son who is now just shy of twenty.

How fucking terrifying is that?

Momentarily overwhelmed, Brian turns away. After he hangs up the phone, he goes to check on Justin, who as it turns out, is fast asleep and lost to the world. His face is hidden in one of the pillows and the blankets are twisted around his hips. Brian approaches him quietly, pulls the blankets up to cover him properly, and kisses his shoulder. He smiles to himself as he realises that, once again, Justin is wearing one of his shirts.

He backs away and leaves Justin to sleep the headache off. When he returns to the lounge, Gus is shrugging off his peacoat (a charcoal number that Brian would very well steal for himself, if it weren’t a size too small) and brushing the snow from his jeans.

“Have you warmed up yet?” Brian nods towards the window, which offers a view of snow pelting down atop Pittsburgh. “Or are you still feeling that?”

“Still feeling it,” Gus admits. “Bailing was necessary, but I’m willing to concede it wasn’t my best idea ever.”

Brian smiles at him, and he’s relieved when Gus smiles back. He heads over to Gus’ bedroom and grabs a pair of socks from the kid’s open suitcase.

“Here,” he calls as he returns to the lounge. “Take the ones you have on off and put these on.”

“Thanks,” Gus says. He bursts out laughing when Brian tosses the socks at his face. “Cut it out!”

Then a knock sounds at the door. When Brian goes to open it, in comes a very handsome busboy. Brian notices Gus noticing him immediately. In fact, they seem to notice each other. The busboy offers Gus a shy smile, which makes Gus go pink from his chin to his hairline.

Brian tries to hide his amusement and hands the busboy a tip, which makes him grin from ear to ear.

“Thank you, sir,” he gushes.

Gus snorts. Brian cringes. The busboy delivers the tray to the coffee table and then departs, but not before giving Gus one more smile.

‘Sir’. Fucking hell.

Never before has Brian felt so ancient. There was a time when he would have been the one noticing the busboy, and being noticed, too. Apparently that’s well and truly in the past - the busboy didn’t even look at him. All he saw was Gus.

Yep, times sure have changed.

That in and of itself doesn’t bother Brian; he just wishes he’d had some warning. Somehow, this has all snuck up on him. Like, for example - when the hell did Gus grow up? It seems like yesterday that Gus was a little kid, and now he’s nineteen.

For a moment, Brian misses the younger version of his son - the one he carried around everywhere, either perched on his hip, or on top of his shoulders, or bundled in his arms.

“Dad?” Gus offers him the plate of cheesecake. “Want some?”

Brian shakes his head and returns to his spot on the couch. “I want you to hold up your end of the deal and talk to me.”

Gus scowls and spoons about a third of the cheesecake into his mouth in one go. After he’s swallowed it, he chases it with some cocoa, then mutters, “I hate our family.”

It surprises Brian - how bitter Gus sounds. His protective urges start to flare up as he wonders exactly what happened to make his kid so miserable.

“Anyone in particular?” Brian arches an eyebrow at Gus. “Or is it everyone that you’re pissed at?”

“Not everyone.” Gus stares into his cocoa and shakes his head. “Just some of ‘em.”

“Time to start naming names, kiddo, or I can’t help.”

“What do you mean by ‘help’?”

“I mean I’ll deal with the situation.” Brian sees doubt in Gus’ expression and elaborates, “I’ll talk to them.”

“It won’t do any good!” Gus glugs down a mouthful of cocoa and then slams the almost-empty mug on the coffee table. “Jus tried talking to them ages ago. Okay, sure, they stopped… but today they started up again.”

Brian tries to think what Gus might be talking about, but he comes up empty. “Started up again with what?”

The only response he gets is a rush of mumbled nonsense.

As patiently as he can manage, Brian requests, “Can you try that again?”

With a roll of his eyes, Gus complies. “They were asking about personal stuff.”

“What kind of personal stuff?”

 _“Really_  personal stuff.” Another blush creeps up Gus’ face as he adds softly, “Stuff I don’t wanna talk about.”

Ah. Now all of this is starting to make sense. It comes back to Brian - the conversation that he and Justin had years ago, when Gus was seventeen or so. Apparently, certain members of the family were pestering Gus for details of an intimate nature. It was Justin who came to Gus’ rescue by pulling everyone aside and telling them to leave the boy be.

So that conversation bought Gus two years of peace. Brian wonders what he might have to do to buy Gus longer - say, a lifetime of it. Truthfully, he’s tempted to corner the assholes involved and give them a piece of his mind. It’s hardly a diplomatic approach, but Brian doesn’t give a shit about diplomacy. All he cares about is Gus.

Gus, who braved an oncoming snowstorm because that was preferable to being around the family.

Gus, who looks utterly shattered right now.

Gus, who Brian would do anything for. That urge has lived within him for damn near twenty years, growing from the spark he felt that night at the hospital to the all-consuming blaze that he feels now.

“Kiddo,” Brian says, “Tell me who it was and what they said.”

“I don’t want to make things weird.”

“Aren’t they already?”

“Yeah.” Gus sighs. “I mean, they were… they were drunk. That was a part of it. And I don’t think they meant to upset me, they were being nostalgic and… and I think they didn’t realise-”

“Gus.” Brian spreads his hands and gestures to himself. “This is me. Out with it, okay?”

A tiny little smile flickers over Gus’ face for a few seconds. Then, with an air of grim determination, he admits, “It was Em, Michael, and Deb. Ted tried to stop them but then he and Blake had to go, so I got stuck with it.”

“‘It’ being?”

Initially, this question is met with dead quiet. Brian sits back and waits – he lets Gus take his time getting it out. When Gus finally does speak, it’s in hushed tones with a blush covering his entire face. “They were… reminiscing. And I got dragged into it. They were talking about… you. Your… sex life. Which is apparently the primary determinant for what my sex life is gonna be like.”

Brian remains silent as Gus picks up his mug. Instead of drinking what little cocoa remains, he just swishes the mug around, letting the liquid slosh from side to side.

By the time he speaks again, Brian figures the cocoa must be ice cold.

“They asked me to tell them about what I’ve ‘been up to’ – like they were asking about school or something, except they weren’t. I didn’t know what to say. I _hate_ feeling like that.” Gus grimaces. “So Em says, ‘I bet you have some stories to tell’, and Michael says, ‘Of course he does, we all know how much he takes after Brian’. It’s like they don’t even realise that I’m my own person. Or that I don’t want to be like you, not like that… uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” Brian says with a shrug. “Did you try telling them that?”

“Kind of,” Gus mumbles. “I told them it’s not really like that, but they didn’t believe me. They kept making all these innuendo-laden jokes… talking about all the trouble you used to get into… asking…”

“… asking…?”

“… asking what my number is. Saying you don’t even know yours.” Gus shoves the mug aside and almost seems to fold in on himself as he slouches against the armrest and places his head in his hand. “There were also a lot of thinly veiled references to a lot of _really_ personal stuff that I don’t want to repeat, or think about, or anything. It was awful.”

It’s a rare thing to see Gus in such a fragile state. Brian finds it quite confronting, so much so that he needs a moment to think through how to respond.

There’s a part of him that wants to leave, brave the shitty weather, and head back to Emmett’s to give him, Michael, and Deb a piece of his mind. But despite the strength of that urge, Brian stays seated. He’ll deal with the three of them later. Right now it’s the consequence of their drunken reminiscing that he’d like to attend to – the consequence being that Gus is upset and embarrassed, rightly so. The kid may be able to hold his own on most fronts, but he’s also private about a lot of things.

“I just don’t understand,” Gus exclaims suddenly. His face twists up angrily as he rants, “I don’t understand why they would even want to know that about me, I don’t understand why you guys talk about that stuff at all, or why everyone expects me to be like you, or how you could…”

“How I could _what?”_

It comes out sharper than either of them were expecting. Gus starts a little, but Brian doesn’t back down – he stares evenly at his son and repeats, “How I could what?”

“How you could sleep around like that,” Gus mumbles, looking away. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

That stings. Brian tries to push the pain away but it won’t go. They may be coming up to twenty years as father and son, but he still hasn’t figured out how to cope with those rare moments when Gus doesn’t adore him. Right now feels like all the other times – when at eight, Gus said ‘I hate you’ for the first time; or at thirteen, when he spat the words ‘sperm donor’ at Brian with vitriol; or at sixteen, when they had their worst fight to date. It’s a peculiar sort of agony, where Brian feels as though he’s shrinking, reducing to nothing, while the pain grows and grows, looming large.

All those other times, he was too stunned to really react. And really, what other option was there? He wasn’t going to yell at his eight-year-old son. He had to leave the room when he got called a ‘sperm donor’, or else he would have fallen apart in front of everybody. He struggled through that fight and all that went with it, all the confessions that Gus was demanding… he didn’t confront Gus over how unfair the whole situation was.

But Gus is nineteen now, and he’s been insisting on being treated like a grown-up for some time now, so Brian refuses to hold back on this occasion.

“First of all,” he snaps, “I didn’t ‘sleep around’. Call it what it was – I _fucked_ around. I fucked a lot of different guys – more than I can possibly count. The times that I slept with them were few and far in between, and either regrettable or forgettable. That wasn’t what I wanted them for. Secondly, it’s not for you to get. It doesn’t need to make sense to you.”

Snarkily, Gus retorts, “Did it make sense to you?”

“Sure it did,” Brian bites back. “It’s hardly a complex equation, is it? I wanted to fuck, so I did.”

“It’s not the fucking! I get wanting… _that._ It’s all those guys, different ones every night, all over the damn place… in public… sharing it with everyone, everyone knowing…” Gus wraps his arms tightly around himself and sighs. “I’m not trying to judge, I just don’t get it.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re judging me,” Brian says with a shrug. “Judge all you like. I also couldn’t care less if you don’t ‘get it’. That has nothing to do with anything.”

“Fine,” Gus mutters.

“Fine,” Brian echoes.

For a few moments, they revert back to tense silence. Brian is at a loss as to how to break it – but it turns out he doesn’t have to, as Gus soon says, “Did you really enjoy it?”

“Yes.” Brian pauses and thinks back – years and years back, now – and recalls the long nights, late drifting into early, blurred faces belonging to beautiful bodies, the thrill of it, the want, the need. It wasn’t always great; some nights were mediocre, others were boring as shit. And then there were the times when it wasn’t really about want, nor need, nor the thrill of it… there were times when he was chasing a distraction, or a remedy (for loneliness, for boredom, for a whole host of things he would rather forget). It worked well enough, for the most part. Still, the answer remains the same. He stares at Gus until Gus finally looks back, and then he says again, “Yes. I really enjoyed it.”

“Don’t you like it better now?”

“Do I like fucking Justin better than all those other guys?”

_“Dad.”_

“That’s what you were asking, right? Yeah, I like that better.” Brian glances towards their side of the suite, at the bedroom door beyond which Justin lies sleeping. The mere thought of his husband fills him with a warmth, which blossoms into something more – a fondness, a sense of fulfilment. “I never thought I would, but I do. Of course I do.”

“Good,” Gus says, still with that edge of snark. Then, suddenly, he softens. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a jerk to you about this. It’s just that… it’s following me around.”

“What is?”

“You. Your past.”

“Ah.”

“Except…”

“… except…?”

Gus’ gaze flits around the room for a few moments, but then he settles on Brian and admits, “It doesn’t sound like you. I mean, yeah, you’re my dad… so I guess I don’t know that side of you. At least, I shouldn’t. But it’s not just that. Every time these kinds of conversations start, every time I have to sit there and listen to this shit, I can’t help but think that the you they’re describing… he doesn’t sound real. He sounds more myth than man.”

As those words leave Gus’ mouth, Brian is returned to a moment from long ago – almost fifteen years back – when Justin said something similar. In a whisper, he confided:

_There’s the Brian Kinney of legend, and there’s the Brian Kinney of flesh and blood._

Brian recalls the rush he felt when Justin said that. It returns now, at Gus’ acknowledgment of the distinction. He remembers being both of those men – legend; flesh and blood – and also encompassing the grey area in between. He doesn’t want Gus stuck with some meaningless mythology. That’s no way for his son to live.

As though he’s reading Brian’s mind, Gus murmurs, “I don’t want to be a myth. But when they talk to me like that, I can feel it clinging to me…”

“Kiddo,” Brian says, “I’ll talk to them.”

“You will?”

“Of course I will.”

There is no other possible answer, no alternate path to be taken. Brian won’t let this myth cling to his son. As his protective instincts return full force, it shines through in his voice. When he says, _of course I will,_ promise is threaded through every last letter.

Gus seems to recognise that vow. His lips quirk into a tiny smile as he says, “Thanks, Dad.”

As Brian smiles back, the bedroom door creaks open and Justin emerges.

“There’s my guys,” he says softly, whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He wanders by Gus, ruffles his hair, and then gravitates towards Brian. As he flops into Brian’s arms, he smiles and murmurs, “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” Brian kisses him, then queries, “Feeling better?”

Justin grins and nods. “Much.”

Since he didn’t only intend the question for Justin, Brian glances at Gus and gives him a look as if to say, _and you?_

Gus nods surreptitiously and then makes a grab for the room service menu. “What are we gonna have for dinner?”

“Lemme see,” Justin says, and Gus hands the menu over. As Justin starts to flick through it, Gus angles another smile at Brian and mouths, _thank you._

Brian smiles back again. Just like that, all is well again. His son adores him still. 

As they settle in together for their movie night, Brian steals a glance at Gus. Earlier, he had longed to have his little boy back, but that longing has faded now. This Gus may not fit in his arms like a pea in a pod, but there are other things to cherish – like how thrilled Brian is to watch Gus grow into his own person. He wouldn’t want to miss out on that. The person that Gus is becoming - a man in his own right, hopefully with no burden of lingering mythologies - is someone great, someone brilliant, and someone who of whom Brian is endlessly proud.

**The End**


End file.
